Chapter Eight
Jen grabbed Ted’s arm, and he stopped speaking mid-sentence.
‘What?’ He turned to see where she was staring.
‘Don’t look!’ she shrieked, squeezing his forearm. She made such a noise that it reached Lou and Rich even over the din of the music, causing them both to frown and stare at her.
‘What?’ Lou mouthed.
Jen jerked her head towards the shadowy corner where the very definition of handsomeness sat. ‘Train Guy,’ she bellowed, only to find that there was a lull in the music and her words were clearly audible to the surrounding crowds.
Flushing, she glanced over. The kerfuffle had roused him from whatever literary masterpiece he was working on, and he was gazing around, looking vaguely in her direction, frowning.
Luckily his eye didn’t fall on her.
Jen tried to swig from her empty glass, and found herself disappointed.
‘Oh my God.’ Ted was laughing so hard that his shoulders were heaving. ‘You have not got any better at this stuff.’
‘I have, it’s just—you lot are cramping my style.’
‘Want me to go over there and talk you up? You know, like in the old days.’ He grinned. ‘I could tell him you’re an ex of mine who broke my heart and to never let you get away.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I mean that’s basically true, so . . .’
He slapped her thigh playfully. ‘Or I could tell him you’re a famous actress, or some kind of influencer, maybe . . .’
She laughed. ‘Don’t try to act like you know what that means, old man! No, you know what? I might try just going over there and talking to him. See what happens.’
He dropped his mouth open in mock surprise. ‘Look at you, all grown up. Probably for the best, anyway, I’m a bit rusty at all this. I’d end up telling him you’re some kind of influenza on the Tik-Tok.’
She laughed, a little too much. She was nervous, and she would dearly have liked another cocktail to take a swig of.
Still. It was now or never. Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something by throwing her into Train Guy’s path again.
She took a deep breath and eased herself off the stool, catching Lou’s eye as she made her way over to the corner of the bar.
Lou was nodding vigorously, looking a little flushed and, as her gaze fell back to the vision drinking whisky in the corner, fiddling with her wedding ring as though to remind herself of what it signified.
‘Far From the Madding Crowd,’ Jen said as she approached.
Train Guy glanced up. He looked confused, and for a horrible moment Jen thought that he wasn’t going to recognise her. Then he smiled, those bright blue eyes twinkling.
‘“Santa Got Stuck Up the Chimney”,’ he said.
She laughed, pulling a face. ‘Not quite as impressive.’
He grinned. ‘I don’t know, you remembered all the actions.’ He closed his notebook and turned his attention fully to her. ‘Anthony,’ he said, placing a hand on his chest. ‘You?’
‘Jen.’
‘Nice to see you, Jen. Again.’ His gaze flicked over her face. He swallowed. ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.’
If Jen hadn’t believed in fate before, she did now.
‘Casablanca,’ she murmured.
He nodded. They spoke at the same time.
‘Heartbreaking.’
‘So sad.’
He smiled, shrugging. ‘I’m not as cultured as I sound, just so you don’t get the wrong impression.’
‘Uh-huh, yeah, I can tell that about you, what with you reading Hardy on the train and sitting in a bar writing in a notepad like some American novelist from the fifties and quoting classic films at me. I thought, wow, this guy’s a philistine.’
He laughed, holding up his hands. ‘I’m telling you. Don’t be fooled by first impressions.’
He pulled out the stool next to him, indicating it, and Jen sat down. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Well, if you tell me you’re jotting football scores down in that notepad then I have no choice but to believe you.’
‘Ha, not exactly. I’m a writer, so—’
‘You’re a writer? Like, novels or poems or what?’
‘All of the above.’
Jen tried not to look too impressed. ‘I didn’t think I’d find a writer hanging out in Waterfield, far too bohemian for a place like this! You from round here?’
He glanced round at the buzzing bar. ‘God, no. I’m here visiting my mum, she’s twisted her ankle. The city suits me better.’
Jen nodded. ‘Me too.’
‘So you’re here for . . . ?’
‘My friends organised a get-together, we went to college round here. It’s my birthday.
’ She glanced over her shoulder to where her friends stood, staring at Jen and Anthony with open curiosity.
He followed her gaze and grinned, raising a hand to them, at which point they all suddenly became very interested in their drinks.
‘Sorry about them,’ she said. ‘They have very boring lives these days, they need to get any excitement where they can.’
He laughed. ‘Fair enough. But it’s your birthday? I’d better buy you a drink.’ He raised a finger, and that was all the effort needed for him to catch the attention of the barmaid. ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling, and she blushed. ‘My friend here would like . . .’ He looked at Jen quizzically.
‘A gin and tonic, please.’
‘A gin and tonic, please. Make it a double, it’s her birthday. And I’ll have another Glenmorangie.’ He turned back to Jen. ‘So do you work with kids? Or have kids?’ he asked, as the drinks arrived.
‘I – no kids!’ She forced herself to smile, the sensation of fat little arms around her neck and soft blonde curls tickling her face suddenly so strong it almost floored her.
She swallowed. Took a breath, fought to bring herself back into the present.
‘I do have the most adorable niece and nephew, I don’t get to see them very often, though.
’ Her stomach twisted briefly as she thought about all the occasions she’d chosen to miss: birthdays, Christmases, fun auntie outings.
She took a slug of her drink, willing her mind away from this train of thought, as she always did.
Willing herself to focus on the warm, noisy room.
On the gorgeous man, watching her intently, waiting for her to speak.
‘I – I did qualify as . . . What makes you ask that?’
He took a sip of whisky. ‘I don’t know, you were so good with that kid on the train that—’
‘Oh, Lottie.’
‘Lottie, yeah, that I thought you must have some experience or . . . you just seemed like a natural.’
‘Oh.’ She was a little taken aback by this observation, and somewhat flattered. ‘Well, thanks, yes. I – you know, I was going to go into teaching, but it just didn’t . . .’
‘Didn’t work out?’
‘Exactly, yes.’
He nodded. ‘Life doesn’t always go to plan. Not necessarily a bad thing.’
She smiled. Somehow he was turning her greatest disaster into a positive life choice; it was a point of view she’d never considered before.
She was scatter-brained Jen, the one who could never quite get it together, the one who got left behind while everyone else forged ahead with successful careers, marriages and families.
He sipped his drink, gazing at her with interest. ‘I think you’re an unusual person, Jen.’
‘Unusual?’ She wasn’t sure whether to be offended or flattered.
He nodded. ‘Most people make the safe choice, I think. Take the job. Marry the bloke.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I mean, I take it you’re not . . . ?’
She shook her head. ‘Free as a bird.’
A small smile shivered over his lips as she said this. ‘It takes someone special to choose another path. To follow their heart, you know?’
Jen took a sip of her drink, realising that she’d had more than she thought, and her head was buzzing a little.
Maybe it wasn’t just the gin. She looked into Anthony’s steady blue eyes as he watched her, taking her in, and she felt something completely new.
She felt that he saw something in her that no one else did.
She felt she was being taken seriously, that her lifestyle had been a choice rather than an accident, and that her choice was being respected.
‘Well, you must have done the same, made those decisions too,’ she said, her voice feeling a little thick. Must be the gin. ‘Right? You’re a writer. You’ve chosen that over a boring nine-to-five, haven’t you?’
He turned so that his body fully faced her, draining his whisky and looking at her intently. ‘Not everyone understands, do they?’
She shook her head. No one in her life understood. Her parents were disappointed, her friends confused. Julia was disdainful, or at least, that’s what Jen assumed; she tried to avoid putting herself in the position to hear Julia’s opinion of her life.
Perhaps coming to Babblebrook had been a gift, after all.
Who would’ve thought that this would be where she’d meet the one person who might truly understand her?
She wondered, as she stared at Anthony’s impossibly beautiful face and those eyes that seemed to take everything in, whether perhaps this wasn’t exactly where she was meant to be, after all.
He placed his empty glass on the bar and looked up at her through the hair that fell over his eyes. ‘So, Jen,’ he said. ‘Can I get your number?’